


Don’t Count the Bullets If You Pull the Trigger

by Puniyo



Series: Parallel Universes [5]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Alternative Universe - Crime, Blowjobs, Dark and disturbing themes, M/M, crude language, mental and psychological games, mention of murder and violence, psychopath perhaps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2019-11-12 09:05:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18007952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puniyo/pseuds/Puniyo
Summary: ‘What do you do for a living?' Javier taps the dashboard. 'Be a resident mummy on a haunted house? Or an astrologer who thinks he can buy death’s scythe with a kiss?'‘I am flattered that you are so interested in who I am.’ Yuzuru smirks as his eyes are fixed on the road.‘I am not.’‘But I am.'CHAPTER 2 (and last part) updated!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dear all, this is a bunny plot that I had for some time from a very short prompt but I never got it out until a Eureka moment this morning. Bare in mind that this is a dark plot and it is as unapologetic as it gets. Also, you should have realized how much I like mental games by now. It's your choice to read this and you've been warned. 
> 
> Disclaimer: In no ways this reflects the people mentioned, as well as the views of the author. This is strictly a work of FICTION!

The wailing of the rusty hinges worn out by the humid air is almost as loud as the thud of the heavy wooden door as he closes it with one final haul, the platinum latch locking it instantly and flashing a tiny red LED light. He turns the leather plate hanging by the hand to the ‘do not disturb’ side, the lain-out icon of the minimalistic man on a badly drawn bed resembling too much the body he had just granted the miracle of eternal sleep. The steps from his hard-sole shoes are muted by the green olive carpet but each one of them is a punch on his stomach, twisting his guts and he thinks he might just splurge all his intestines on the floor.

Javier presses the descending button for the elevator, once so it lights, twice when the number on the display doesn’t change, and as many times as his raging pulse when the digit doesn’t reach his floor quick enough.

‘Fuck.’

He runs to the fire escape stairs, fourteen floors above the ground, the concentric maze of steps and railings almost making him dizzy, and yet he navigates through turns and corners like an agile German Shephard, focused on arriving at the lowest story. The crystal chandeliers at the lobby refract the warm yellow illuminance to all the ceiling and walls but he could care less whether it’s _Bellagio_ granite or termite-eaten cypress planks that he is walking upon, as he rushes to the male restroom, ignoring the stares of the overly prying check-in staff and bellboys.

It is not only the door to his cubicle that he locks but the whole compartment, denying entry to anyone, guest, crew or those in between. The Spaniard crouches on the nearest urinal, the smell of the jasmine diffuser not strong enough to cover the stench of bodily fluids, and he throws up against the stained porcelain. The nausea is real at first, the sickening cheap coffee he had just had spilling out to the drain along with remnants of badly chewed strawberries, but he forces the gastric juices and the excessive bile to test how much he could regurgitate until he fainted.

A few brown blotches smear his navy-blue shirt and he rips the buttons apart immediately, discarding the torn shirt on the tiles of the floor as if his own filth would contaminate him further. The large mirrors by the black basins reflect the firm muscles of his chest, toned and immaculately free of any scar and imperfection. His face though, he barely recognizes it. Damp hazelnut locks with sweat that ran down his cheeks to his pale lips, blood shot eyes, and the scratch marks of varnished nails by his chin.

‘Guess you won’t do that anymore, bitch.’

Javier chuckles, a snigger that morphs into a full, maniac laughter, one that threatens to make him vomit again but the more he remembers how that little neck slowly broke under his grip, how the windpipe was constricted until he crushed the tiny bones in the symphony of the dislocated cartilages, the wider the smirk curves. There is a golden lock on his clutch and he brings it to his lips, kissing it chastely and tenderly in a final goodbye blessing. The Spaniard retrieves the zippo carefully tucked on the pocked of his army camouflaged jeans and he sets the tress of hair aflame, the burnt smell of flesh asphyxiating the restroom and the trail of smoke assaulting the fire alarm.

It is deafening the screeching alarm resonating throughout the whole hotel but it calms him instead. A change of clothes had been hidden on the lower compartment of the sink furthest away from the door and Javier delights in the Cinderella moment as languidly as he can, a snail putting back its own shell, foamy soap washing his hands and a plastic comb nonchalantly styling his own nut-dyed strands. The three-piece suit fits him exactly to measure, pointy lapels of silk and four cuff links of rose gold, more polished than the surface of the sun.

‘Forgive me, _my dear_.’

The bottle of _Charlie_ is not his and it hits the floor, shattering into large chunks of glass, the amber liquid of alcohol, pear and musk seeping through the joints of the tiles. He hates the smell, the smell of her and he steps on the spilled cologne, a footprint of brown dirtying his gait. Javier picks up one of the broken pieces shaped like a prism, the sharpest of them all he thinks, and he brings it to his own forehead. On the mirror, his doppelganger carves the edge into the skin just below the line of the hair, slashing a cut, not too deep, shallow, but it bleeds like a fountain, the ribbon of red sprinting down the bridge of his nose until the first drops fall from his jaw.

Javier feels no pain. Only a feeble breeze that is blown to the freshly made wound, even when he presses harder, trying to embed the crystal further in.

_What a boring game._

When he finally leaves the male toilets, pretending to be limping and partially blinded by the loss of blood, a myriad of guests, some in bathrobes, others in suits similar to his, a few empty baby strollers, all of them comply with the evacuation with the utmost panic. The Spaniard blends into the crowd, a mock, worried look on his face as he searches for no one in the multitude of heads and limbs, and when his feet are tired of the deliberate drag, the overcast stormy clouds are almost as dark as the eyes of the young man that pulls him to the berm of a flower bed. The white lilies are almost as the same height as he is, even when seated.

‘What are you–’

‘I’m sorry, sir.’ It’s not dark the eyes. They are completely pitch black, the total absence of any color, perhaps the shade of the end of the universe. ‘I need to tend your cut before it infects the rest of your handsome face.’

‘I don’t need–’

‘This will hurt a little.’ Javier doesn’t even bother to grimace when a cotton ball drenched in the pungent iodine antiseptic is plastered to his forehead. ‘Please press it for now. I know you can hear me well.’

He follows the order of the improvised nurse, the boy pulling a gauze and sterilized cloth from a first-aid box he carried. He is too jittery for a caregiver, Javier notices, and the long fringe of the same hue of his eyes almost hinder his line of sight. He curses under his breath when he can’t find a scissors and he gnaws the package of the medical tape open, spitting out the remnant of the plastic cover from his mouth. He is almost as pale as the bandages he unwraps, but his lips are May carnations, dipped into red of exotic ironed soil.

Javier finds him to be beautiful. Much more than she was.

‘Only the gauze will be enough.’

‘Don’t teach me what to do.’ His voice gains the attention of the young man, who sighs in surrender as he quickly cleanses the sweat and dust around the laceration, dressing it with only a layer of cotton. ‘You are a very lucky man, Mr.?’

Javier hesitates for a second, almost falling to the trap of revealing his identity. He flashes a smile, a polite one of silent gratitude, but the other man obstructs his way when he tries to leave.

‘It doesn’t matter then.’ He extends his hand. ‘I’m Yuzuru. Remember my name.’ His voice is of a tenor, higher than his own, a clear timbre of a viola.

‘I will, _Yuzuru_.’ Perhaps he might, perhaps he won’t. The touch of his hand though, he will. Soft like sheep’s wool but the grip is robust, not wanting to caress the skin but prickling to the bones. ‘If I you allow me, I would like to go now.’

‘I know who you are and what you have done.’ Yuzuru smirks as he catches Javier’s escaping fingers, massaging the space between them to the knuckles. ‘Amateur.’

There is no way he knows anything. It is just a bluffing theater for two and the Spaniard mentally counts a few numbers, random dates, until he lies to his own pulse too. ‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’

‘You are that player with the captain jersey. I was there in the hockey match.’ He was probably confounding Javier with someone else but he plays along. ‘It’s a pity your team lost but I couldn’t take my eyes off you.’

‘What did you like so much?’

Yuzuru bites his lower lip and leans forward until he almost kisses Javier’s earlobes. ‘The look in your eyes.’ The puffs of air as the young man speaks send shivers down his spine, terrifying and exciting him at the same time. ‘I thought you would kill the goaltender and bury him with your own hands.’

The sudden tightness at his crotch is everything but comfortable and even the faint scent of vanilla, one that he hates so much, from the dark-haired man, is increasingly arousing. ‘Are you really a nurse?’

Yuzuru shrugs his shoulders while he tiptoes back. ‘Are you really a businessman who think _Armani_ suits are still in fashion, Mr. Stranger?’

The first drop of rain falls into the sterile mesh, marking the arrival of a spring shower. The wind too brings a few gusts of exhaust gases from the running engines on the main road, reminding Javier of the charred golden lock and he coughs when saliva refuses to be swallowed.

‘C’mon, Mr. Stranger.’ Yuzuru pulls him by the wrist towards the carpark just next to them. ‘I will drive you home.’

‘Aren’t you working?’

‘It’s 5:59. Are you going to deduct my salary because of one minute?’ He flashes a tiny watch, the pointers for hours and minutes not existent, except for the silver band on his free arm. It’s impossible to read the time from that imitation, Javier notices.

‘I don’t want to go home.’

‘I don’t want to either. You choose a place then.’

‘I don’t have anywhere I want to go to.’

‘They don’t teach lying at college, do they?’

‘I simply have nowhere to go.’

‘How about dinner? Out of town, away from all the vultures of these commercial towers full of shit.’

‘Who says I want to go with you?’

‘Who says you don’t want to come with me?’

He opens his mouth to protest but he chuckles instead, nodding in defeat. He shouldn’t trust this hyperactive mystery in front of him, a silhouette that is almost too fragile to withstand the rising hurricane and a waist so slender that he could easily snap it, and yet his two feet follows the serpentine pattern between the vehicles in the covered estate.

‘Has anyone ever said no to you, Yuzuru?’ He quickens his pace so they are walking side by side.

‘Yuzu. Yuzu is fine.’ The young man pulls out the car keys from the back pocket of the black jeans that hugged his butt cheeks, round and perky. He points at the white Lexus stopped just beside a trash can. ‘And no, I only accept ‘yes’ as option.’ He unlocks the doors with a rather strange pose that contorts his whole body and Javier thinks he has never seen anyone as eccentric as he is. ‘I silence all of those who promise me a ‘no’.’

A beautiful riddle that he can’t solve.

Javier expects no less from the exquisite interior of the car as the four wheels dash through the asphalt of the highway. It is pouring by now but he opens a little of the window on his side, the velocity of the car, way above the mandatory limit dishevelling his hair and agitating the petite yellow bear hanging by the rear view mirror. There is also a cherry blossom shaped amulet laying by the dashboard and he picks it up, not understanding any of the Japanese characters scribbled in it.

‘It’s to ward off any evil spirits.’ Yuzuru tells him as he overtakes a family car that entered the wrong lane.

‘Are you an exorcist now?’

‘You have no idea how many ghosts lurk in these roads. Ghosts that refuse to go to hell because they want to drag someone else with them.’

‘And from all the people, you would be the chosen one.’ He would choose him if he was an apparition, just to see how fear defiles his uncanny allure.

‘I’m wanted, Mr. Stranger. Dead or alive.’

Queen’s _Too Much Love Will Kill You_ hits the first chords on the radio and Javier reclines on his seat, quietly listening to the music as he watches the windshield wipers travel left and right in the most tedious dance. The succession of songs from the station are all classics but he finds them too mellow, too naïve, as the love duets end with serenating vows laced with deceit. The Spaniard suppresses a yawn and Yuzuru taps his thigh in a gentle rhythm.

‘I know of a fishery restaurant near the border to P. It’s the only place where you can have pufferfish.’

‘Aren’t these…’, he stares at the fondling circles being drawn on his muscle, ‘… poisonous?’

‘Don’t you like to parade on a tightrope above an abyss? See when you will fall and how long is the dive.’ Yuzuru laughs until his abdomen contracts into a cramp. ‘You are too serious, Mr. Stranger.’

‘What do you do for a living? Be a resident mummy on a haunted house? Or an astrologer who thinks he can buy death’s scythe with a kiss?’

‘I am flattered that you are so interested in who I am.’

‘I am not.’

'But I am. I am so elated to be here with you. I really like you, Mr. Stranger.’

The young man takes a detour as they finally leave the highway, into a dirt road already in the countryside, right past a few plantations of purple corn and golden wheat. It is still raining and the pools along the pavement are baths for the mosquitoes, but he stops under the looming crowns of willows, their shadow blending with the veil of the night.

‘I’m a collector of rarities, Mr. Stranger. A cob born without any kernel, an artefact dug out from under the hotel where you stayed, a piece of a star when it lapses from the sky.’ Yuzuru unfastens his seatbelt and he nudges closer to Javier, until their lips are mere inches apart. ‘And I want you. I want you since the first time you called me. I want to feel your skin on mine until it burns me to ashes. I want…’, he subtlety drags his hand down the buttons on the Spaniard’s shirt until it reaches the semi-erected bulge against the zipper, ‘… I want to feel you inside of me.’

‘I am not–,’ Javier is not sure if it is Yuzuru’s lust or his own that make the pair of obsidians glimmer, ‘I don’t do strangers.’

‘ _You_ are the stranger here.’

The young man gives a tentative lick on his lower lip, a lynx preparing for the courtship game it is so proud of. He leans forward again for one more and Javier opens his mouth darting out his own tongue but Yuzuru refuses the contact, shaking his head, his dark strands accompanying the movement in the most elegant cadence.

‘Let me do it.’ The young man lowers himself, his gaze never leaving the Spaniard’s, until he kisses the evident protruding member through the fabric of the linen pants. ‘I want you to come on me. Let me drink of you.’

Javier doesn’t know when his hands started to tremble and how to stop the annoying quavers but he only nods as electrical pulses tingle the tip of his fingers, spreading to his toes. He clumsily unbuckles the platinum clasp of his belt, the cold air drawing a moan from his throat when he exposes his navel and the line of his hips to nature.

‘Let me.’ Yuzuru takes his hands to his face, biting each of his palms before he places them on his nightly hair. He pulls the zipper down with his teeth, sucking the wet patch on the briefs as it comes to his sight.

The gasp from the stab of pleasure hurts and he pulls the young man’s strands too forcibly when he yanks the waist band of his underwear down and sucks the tip of his manhood tauntingly, his tongue dipping into the slit for the pearls of precum. It is not his own restrained sob that he hears but Yuzuru’s muffled one, as he takes him fully to the back of his throat, the throbbing breach of his thin lips enveloping the hot, hard flesh. Javier throws his head back to breathe better but he is suffocating, drowning into the obscene wet sounds as he shoves the mop of black hair deep down, fascinated by the glistening, teary eyes when the skilled tongue licks the swollen vein on the underside of the erected length, and the blushing and hollowing cheeks as he fucks Yuzuru with an incessant voracity.

Javier comes in no time, the fury of his latent passion erupting inside of the young man’s mouth, his semen flooding the palate and dripping down his chin as he swallows all his essence with absolute obedience, sucking a few last times, the Spaniard’s member too sensitive on its afterglow bliss. Yuzuru’s feverish and ragged breath on his cock almost makes him hard again, as he lavishes the flesh with platonic kisses.

‘You are the best man I have ever tasted, Mr. Stranger.’ There is a darker, damp strip on his crotch, Javier barely notices, still half-blinded by the orgasm he never knew it was possible in him, when the tempting driver returns to his own seat, his chest heaving, again and again. ‘Just like a beast.’

‘I need tissues.’ His shirt clings to his torso and nipples with sweat and the tackiness on his groin complements the heavy smell of sex inside the car.

‘On the glovebox.’

A few stapled documents fall from the compartment as Javier opens the small chamber. There are a few bills, credit card statements, a few tubes of lipstick, a pacifier, the tissues he rummaged for, and a gun. A handgun, barrel and magazine, one like he always saw in movies but never on his own clutch. He reaches for it when Yuzuru snatches it, weighing it on his palm and pretending to aim at the windshield.

‘Do you know how to play Russian Roulette, Mr. Stranger?’

Javier swallows dry as he shakes his head. The faint music on the radio is replaced by a voice of a woman, a news reporter that interrupts the lyrical program for the last updates on the weather forecast. It is almost inaudible but Yuzuru turns the volume higher, clearly interested in whatever she is saying. There is an audacious smile on his face, still flushed from the intercourse.

‘… the police forces have not yet found the whereabouts of the _Requiem Swan_ as the ninth victim was found this morning in the imperial suite of the Evergreen Hotel…’

It is the same hotel where Javier was. The same one where he had met Yuzuru.

‘… we urge the people to call the police forces immediately if they see this man. He is in his mid-twenties, of medium stature, between 1.70 and 1.75 centimeters in height and of light weight. Witnesses have said he looks Asian, of fair skin and dark hair. His victims so far have all been men of Hispanic descendance, in their late twenties and earlier thirties. A deviance on this pattern happens to be this last victim, a man on his fifties and a skating…’

The sound of the firing of the pistol against the windshield is so loud that the sound waves ricochet on the radio, shutting it completely. The ringing on Javier’s ears is an orchestra of cymbals, each plate struck on his drums in a cacophonic discord. The hole in the glass is minuscule but the spider ripples of cracked crystal crumble piece by piece.

‘A deviance she called. Wasn’t she mean, Mr. Stranger?’ Yuzuru slides the muzzle along Javier’s arm, the Spaniard flinching at the touch of the metal opening. ‘I really took my time for that masterpiece. Why does she think I dragged him all the way to that jacuzzi? I couldn’t have just left him on the sewers of his pen. Maybe I should go after her too, so she can be another anomaly on my collection. Don’t you think so, Mr. Stranger?’

Javier nods, not daring to contradict the will of the younger man.

‘Are you scared of me?’ The gun hovers over his Adam’s apple and the Spaniard hisses just as he presses his lips together.

‘No.’ The smell of gunpowder is even more nauseating than his own horror. ‘No. Please.’

‘Good.’ Yuzuru smiles innocently, like a child with a new toy, as he straddles the stranger’s lap. ‘Now…’, he leans forward until his own sternum presses the gun against the nut-haired man’s heart, ‘… shall we play, _Javier Fernández?_ ’


	2. Unless you Aim At My Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ!
> 
> This second part of the story is actually a bunny that started since Shalom times (was it last century?) and it finally materialized into this subplot. This chapter clearly contains violent references, a killing included. I'm not the graphic type of person so you won't find very detailed descriptions, even the scene, I marked it in the text in case you want to skip it, is not a proper description of a crime.
> 
> WHAT this chapter and this story aim to do is actually a study on crime and the psychological games that can push a person to commit crime. I am not advocating violence and crime in any possible way, much on the contrary, but I also believe in creative liberties and the exploration of themes in writing. I write drama, I write fluff, I write sappy endings, but I also want to involve and I want to write about things that make me uncomfortable. If you are uncomfortable with this, I totally respect you and I expect the same, so the 'back' button is your option.
> 
> If you decide to proceed, please do enjoy the chapter and I apologize beforehand about any discrepancies between the two chapters. It's been a long time since I delved into this universe. Thank you for your support too! And also a huge thank you to Mother_North for always being willing to feed my bunnies. Love you forever <3
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of FICTION. In no ways the plot reflect the people mentioned.

‘Shall we play, _Javier_?’

He adjusts the weight on his thighs so it encompasses the lap of the Spaniard, worn out denim rubbing against the linen inseam of the _haute couture_ suit pants, firm muscles pressed on his crotch, more area and more tactile surface so that even fully clothed, a zipper and waistband of briefs down, they feel more than naked. The muzzle runs oh so lightly up and down Javier’s chest, following each hill and hollow of his ribcage until it settles right on top of his open collar.

‘Do you want to try to pull the trigger?’ Yuzuru leans forward, a paper-thin gap between their mouths. ‘Do you?’

He shakes his head, lips trembling and so dry, dehydrated by fear and disgust that he almost chokes. ‘No. P-please.’ He can feel the drops of sweat pooling at the end of his back, gluing him to the leather of the seat.

‘C’mon _Javi_ , entertain me.’ The widening smirk feeds of the panic, the taste of it so rich and exotic that the young man darts his tongue out to lick it from Javier’s bottom lip. ‘Or do you want me to do it?’ The metallic opening is gelid against the pores and the minuscule hairs of his skin. ‘Would you like me to aim at your heart? Or your soul?’

Neither, he wants to answer, but words are lumps on his throat and he swallows as hard as he can to drive them back, past his Adam’s apple to his stomach to be digested into cellular rubbish, and he holds the gun in his palm, almost paralyzed. The weapon is small but heavy, sturdy and cumbersome in his grip that gravity must exert an extra force on it. For a few nanoseconds, the Spaniard thinks of aiming it to the head of the devil in front of him, one bullet and this whole nightmare could be finally shattered, but that pair of obsidians seems to know exactly what he is thinking and the young man closes his eyes, ready to accept his loss in the game.

‘Do you want to shoot me, Javi?’ The mocking tone from his vocal cords is both irritating and symphonic, clear and fine-tuned. ‘Do you want to kill me?’

He shakes his head again, recoiling further into his seat, back and backwards, but the svelte silhouette has him imprisoned, clenched in space and time.

‘Let’s be honest. I hate lies. I don’t want you to lie to me. I don’t lie to you.’

‘No. Please, I-I just… please–’

_BAM!_

Javier drops the gun immediately as Yuzuru shouts, his imitation of the firing of the gun echoing through the interior of the car, the waves travelling through the aluminum until they enter the Spaniard’s ears multiplied and reverberating through every single bone of his body. He holds his elbows in front of his face, his own cry muffled by his forearms as tears fall from his cheeks to his chin.

‘Oh Ja-vi-er,’ every single syllable of his name is accentuated, cooed in lullaby verses and laced with mock tenderness, ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to play a little.’ He pries the arms open, tongue on the stubble on his jaw, scooping and drinking of the tear, salty but not too much, and he leaps upward, following the trail to his eyelids and higher still until he kisses the cut on his forehead.

Javier has no idea when but the revolver has returned to Yuzuru’s grip, meandering over his lap again, barrel against the wet stains on his underwear, the sound of it locking simmering his terror anew.

‘P-please–’

‘Shhh…’, the pressure on his sex is enough to silence his whimpers, ‘… you were so good, Javi. I can still feel you inside my mouth, your tip at the back to see how deep you could go. You really enjoyed fucking me, didn’t you?’

‘No…’, he did and he knows how unconvincing his lie is, his half-assed shake of head discrediting his pretence as warmth gathers in his navel.

‘I already miss you, Javi. I want it again, how hard you were and the sweetness pouring on my tongue. You taste better than any champagne, Javi. What have you done to me? I want you again in my mouth until I choke and you will continue to fuck me because no one has ever eaten you like I did.’

‘ _Yes_ …’, they both moan a restrained chant to a begging hymn, and the Spaniard can feel his member slowly giving in to the pleasure, the muzzle brushing achingly over his erection, a few more obscenities leaking from the dark-haired man’s lips.

‘I loved it so much. I loved it to _death_ , Javi.’ The barrel soars beyond his sight and it settles on his temple, just before the line of his hazelnut strands. Yuzuru catches his right hand, a chaste kiss on the knuckles and he interlaces their fingers, bringing their joined hands to the gun so they are both holding it. ‘But we can never have the things we love. Pull the trigger, Javi.’ It doesn’t stay in that position for long before it shifts trajectory to Yuzuru’s own temple. ‘Or I will do it. End this fantasy.’

The tears from before still fog his vision and they threaten to blind him, not before he sees the grin on the young man’s face morph into a poker face of severe seriousness. The blood will spill everywhere, is all the Javier can think of, how crimson ink will stain and drench his clothes and the leather in different shades of red, how the skull will crack and split into puzzle pieces that he needs to assemble back without knowing the solution, how that angel’s face will be deformed into edges and angles, gelatinous matter pouring from his eye sockets, the beauty of the last breath, the allure of the last ounces of strength of the perishing limbs…

And Javier pulls the trigger.

Once.

The world stops at its axis and Javier is flinched from the sudden stagnation of motion. He is sitting inside the stolen _Lexus_ , windshield shattered and the leather burning like an electric oven, his skin melting from the heat, the smell of putrid meat attacking him, neon lights flashing before him in fluorescent streaks of pink and green luminescence, nausea overtaking his senses, and it is not Yuzuru’s fluids that he drowns in but his own, in his own saliva, the plasma from his wounds, blood, blood, and more blood, from his veins, in his brain, the air around him, the oxygen that becomes ozone and then poison…

‘Breathe, Javier.’

Yuzuru cups his face, fingers tiptoeing his earlobe in a gentle caress as the gun lays forgotten by the heel of his polished shoes. The young man nudges closer, their noses in butterfly touches, and he dives for a kiss, for rescue breaths, easing the dizziness that he didn’t know it had installed without permission.

‘That’s it. Breathe, slowly, one second at a time. You are doing amazing, Javi.’

He stares at the dark eyes secured on his, a peek into the abyss of the night that stares right back and he sees nothing but his own reflection, red eyes, swollen, mouth agape, liquid crystal dripping from his face to his neck. He remembers the sound of it, the sound of the spring of the trigger – a feeble decompression of plastic on metal. The residual smell of gunpowder too, nothing else.

A bullet – non-existent.

Javier skims his shivering fingers over the intact patches of skin of the young man’s forehead, unblemished and free of scars. There is nothing, no bleeding hole or gushing grey matter, Yuzuru’s delicate features exactly as he was just now, and he finally breathes, lungs cooperative again, expanding and contracting, his hiccoughs subdued. ‘How?’

‘I’m sorry, Javi.’ He kisses him again, the fatalistic smirk quirking from the corners of his mouth. ‘You look so beautiful when you cry. I couldn’t resist. I had to see how far you would go to set yourself free. And you were willing to kill me. _Me_ , Javi, the only person who has ever loved you.’ He mimics the shooting motion against his head, blowing the imaginary smoke from his index digit. ‘But I forgive you, Javi. You are so beautiful. So beautiful when you break down that I thought I would come on the spot.’ Their fingers are interwoven again, as if their palms had never left each other’s hypnotism, and Yuzuru guides them inside his pants, plunging straight to his hardened cock. ‘You were so courageous, Javi. That’s why I will reward you. Only you.’

The lust-filled sigh is nothing that Javier hasn’t heard before and yet, the sharp plea at the mere touch jolts the extremities of his limbs with its enticing preview and he thinks he will drown in that needy falsetto. The young man is the one to navigate their coordinated hands along the length, the underside and up to the sensitive head, but it is the Spaniard who digs his nails in the popped vein, who grips tighter at the balls, the twitch at his palms and pulsating crescendo complementing the heaving chest.

‘Yes, Javi, _this_ was made for you.’ Yuzuru has released his own hand, drawing his prey closer by the neck instead, arms crossed over his shoulders. ‘I know what kind of person you are, Javi.’ He buckles his hips forward when the fondling halts, restoring the motion, an attack to the knuckles, a dare for the soft patch of skin on the wrist. ‘This world wasn’t made for me and it wasn’t made for you too.’ He moans, exaggerated but almost over the edge, on the Spaniard’s mouth, laughter and a pained grunt when he denies a kiss to the parted lips, his erection under the unforgivingly tight hold. ‘That’s why we will create a world only for us. Where the rules are ours to choose and you, Javi…’, he closes his eyes, the bliss of orgasm overtaking him, ‘you will fuck me ‘till I die.’

Javier comes too, the weight of his desire almost crushing his stomach, his diaphragm, his gut, dry, his body still caught in the earlier spill and the stress of his anxiety. His hand though, a warm whiteness coats his fingers and in between, the last ribbons of semen painting his skin and the fabric of the briefs. He trembles still, from leftover fear he knows not, but to possess Yuzuru, to have him writhing under his ministrations, he thinks he might come once more if he doesn’t retrieve his hand soon.

‘Move, Javi.’

‘What?’ The daze blears the words to isolated percussion beats.

‘I said move.’

And he is pushed to the driver’s seat, shoved beyond the change of gears and the bridge between their own compartments, head bumping onto the aluminium ceiling, feet stepping on the brake pedal and his elbow unintentional knocking the horn at the center of the steering wheel. It jolts him with the sudden screeching noise, embarrassment heating his cheeks (more than they already are), and Yuzuru hunches forward, fly still open, his member flaccid though, as he laughs of the theatrically comical scene.

‘What do you want from me?’ Everything is silent except for the breeze that shakes a few of the branches of the cork oaks. ‘Are you going to kill me now?’

‘I would have ended your miserable life already if I really wanted to. Tear every single fiber of your muscles from your bones as you begged me to stop, but I didn’t. Besides…’, the clicks of tongue are annoying and yet he can’t help to stare at how the young man’s mouth pops into different shapes, ‘you are the one who followed me.’

‘I didn’t know you were a murderer then.’

‘Is that what I am?’ Yuzuru counts the different names, finger by finger, as if he was a kindergarten infant. ‘A murderer, a plunderer of organs, a thief of crooked ankles and collector of wisdom teeth. It’s all a matter of lexical choice. I thought you were more creative than this, _my_ Javi.’

‘So what do you want from me?’

‘I thought you were smarter too.’ Javier retreats further to the cushioned back as Yuzuru lunges towards him the same way he did before, eyes fixed on him without blinking for a millisecond, his irises so overcast, darker than the starless night itself, devoid of any humanity. ‘You, Javier Fernández, you are the one who asked for my help.’

‘You’re in–’ A kiss stifles the rest of his protest, soft lips, firm lips, vanilla-honeyed lips, and he barely responds to it before Yuzuru breaks the contact but without reeling back.

‘Escape. Isn’t that what you wanted? Out of that hotel? Out of this god-forsaken town?’ It is a whisper and each puff of air is a sugary trap against the Spaniard’s skin. ‘I know what you did, Javi. She wasn’t bad at all but you turned her into a true beauty.’ He licks his bottom lip, scrapping his canine teeth on it. ‘I’ve done it before too but I never achieved the same purple she had. I bet her neck breaking in your hands was the _grand finale_ in the orchestra. Tell me, was it hatred or love?’

‘You know nothing about what happened.’

‘I know _everything_ about it.’ He hurls a sword of accusation to Yuzuru but the crime lord bites back in the same challenging hiss. ‘The room, the fire alarm, the scar. You think you had all the steps under control, didn’t you? The security goons at the door, the police, do you think you’re still the poor accountant with the cheap Armani suit?’ The young man returns to his seat, the mocking smirk back to his face. ‘Amateur.’

Javier takes a deep breath, panic lacing with the bitter bile and already gathering at the back of his throat. He doesn’t dare to talk, nausea overtaking his senses again. Was it her ghost that was haunting him and trying to pull him alive to the depths of hell, if inferno hasn’t already befallen upon his spirit.

‘Don’t worry, Javi.’ Yuzuru places a hand on his thigh, squeezing the muscles there tenderly. ‘I will take care of you. All you need to do is to drive.’

‘Drive?’ He repeats the inquiry mentally. ‘How?’

The other man sighs, extravagantly hyperbolic in its magnitude, the first signs of lack of patience evident on the subtle wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. ‘With your hand on the wheel and…’, he unlocks the manual brake, the vehicle lagging backwards until Javier grips the leather, round controller, foot on the stopping pivot, quick enough that their bodies are jerked forward. The spider web ripples on the windshield spread further into the corners, threatening to burst anytime.

‘Are you trying to kills us!?’ It is irritation, it is latent anger that now stews on his nerves, madness on his blood and vexation parboiled on his sweat. But it is also excitement, a turmoil of hysteria in the deepest chasm of his brain, rapture on ventricles of his heart.

‘Oh, wouldn’t that be romantic? You and I, here, as we watch the last sunrise of the end of time.’ Yuzuru blows him a kiss. ‘Get us out of here, Javi.’

‘In this state?’ He points at the bullet mark beneath the rear view mirror. ‘It will draw too much attention.’

‘That, my sweetest Javi,’ the twilight sky paints the first nightly curtain in orange and fuchsia strokes on the horizon, ‘will depend on how good you are at _coming inside_. Of the darkness.’ He pulls the seatbelt, playing with the flexibility of the elastic material, but never buckling it, and he grabs Javier’s wrist just before he reaches for the center armrest. ‘Don’t you dare to wipe your hand.’

‘What?’ The predator gaze in Yuzuru’s eyes is once again on him, gelid, perhaps a glimpse into his core, and he trembles, nodding in obedience.

‘Drive with the same passion when you held me. I want you to feel me. Every single second.’

 

 

Javier does sweep his palm over the linen fold of his pants, the tacky remnants of semen smearing on his lap, the journey on the tar pavement stable, the lanes of the high-way with only a few other cars all lost in their own itinerary. He brushes his hand a few times down to the knee and up avoiding his crotch area as much as possible, the memory of the orgasm still very vivid. Yuzuru’s weight is leant on the door, head resting on the trim, a few of his unruly strands sprayed across the glass window and his face illuminated by the yellow shadows of the passing lamp posts. He has his eyes closed, an occasional twitch on the lids, lips pursed into a thin line, apathetic, devoid of any emotion, skin pale of a spectre. He is beautiful when he sleeps, Javier thinks, a boyish kind of grace, thin limbs and lanky posture under the illusion of fragility, not yet fully bloomed in his allure, how deadly that would be. He swallows dry and forcefully when that same smirk, boisterous and conceited, arrogantly handsome too, lifts up the corners of the other man’s mouth.

How long had Javier been staring at him?

‘Keep your eyes on the road and not on the defenceless victim.’

The Spaniard heeds to the order immediately, the sudden turn of his neck rather painful, desiccated essence still on the steering wheel.

‘I love how obedient you are, Javi. Better than any stray puppy I’ve ever had.’

‘Fuck you.’

The short tunnel ahead is less than fifty meters long but the dimmed sprint feels like crossing the threshold to another dimension and Yuzuru’s laughter the baptism chorus of his initiation. The young man stretches with a feline nimbleness on the reduced space, both legs at the same time, arms drawn to the back of his seat, a moan of relief as his joints lose the stiffness of remaining in the same position for long.

‘This is boring.’ He rummages through the contents of the glovebox, a grimace at the ugly shade of blue of the lipstick tube, a pacifier, an empty metal case of cigarettes, the flicker of a dying ember on a generic Zippo lighter. He throws the gun there, the sight of the pistol still making Javier uncomfortable, and he unwraps the mini lollipop, the round candy crashing against his teeth, a mount protruding through his cheek. ‘Entertain me, Javi.’

The sucking, wet resonance is almost indecent. ‘I’m not your toy.’

‘Why did you kill that woman?’

The overhead sign marks the entrance to T., an airport and another province whose name he has no idea how to pronounce.

‘She deserved it.’

‘Did she insult your mommy while riding your father? Or was it money, you know, a big fat cheque, no interests, only an extra commission? No, I know!’ Yuzuru waves the sweet treat in front of him like the baton of a maestro. ‘She flushed your diamond ring down the toilet when you proposed together with your own cover of _I Will Always Love You_. I’m so sorry, Javi.’

He grips the wheel tighter, nails digging into the treated leather. ‘She betrayed me.’

‘She didn’t castrate you.’

‘She left me for that scarecrow!’ The dark-haired man nods as if he knew who he was talking about exactly. ‘We had just come back from a visit to her grandparents on the countryside. We opened a bottle of the family heirloom wine that night and she was telling them how happy she was with me.’

‘Never trust the alcoholic ones.’

‘We were dating for almost five years and we had already signed the papers for a house, a small house near the district lake with two bedrooms and an apple tree in the garden. Everything was perfect.’

‘Was it?’ The lollipop slurs a few of the words. ‘Including the sex?’

‘What?’

‘The love making.’ They almost sound insulting from Yuzuru’s lips if it not for the way he turned to face the Spaniard, legs open and tongue out, licking the candy in slow, languid drags. ‘Was she better than I? Did she ever choke on your cock like I did? Did she ever beg you like I want to do now?’

Javier can feel his member becoming hard at the suggestions, at Yuzuru’s warmth engulfing him from tip to his balls, the semi-erection now aching in the confined, (non-existent) area of his briefs. He focuses on the fugitive white and yellow lines on the road, on the distance signage and the reflective bulbs on the steel rails.

‘She threw me in the gutter when that whore appeared. All our plans, our life together, for that joke of a man. I couldn’t forgive her.’

‘And so you killed her.’ The smug grin on the young man’s face is replaced by a pensive frown, the confectionary already dissolved and he only chewing the plastic stick. ‘She was really stupid. Tragically dumb. I will never betray you, Javi.’

Evening had settled on the sky and along with it, the cold gusts hidden during daylight, the smell of the hanging moisture preparing for the dawn dew, the moon, waxing almost full, that pulls Yuzuru to follow the changing phase with its gravity. Javier wants to believe in the promise just now but pretending was an easier game to stake at.

‘I don’t trust the devil.’

The chuckle, frank, curt and yet innocent, could only be from an angel. ‘You know, Javi,’ his fingers tap an improvised rhythm on windowpane, ‘no one is born evil. Rousseau had said it all these centuries ago. You too, Fernández, you were born good. The evil is your choice. The world spins in only one direction…’, he imitates the barrel of a gun with his index digit and he shoots in the air, ‘… but you are the one who decided to leap to this anarchy. You could have let her live with her slave toy, who knows, we could be driving over them in the next traffic light because they decided to cross it red, or she could be fed to the sharks on her holiday in a deserted island down under. You could have chosen to be good but…’, his breath clouds the glass and he doodles a broken heart on the surface, ‘… that’s not what you really want, is it?’

The hairs at his nape rise, a shiver down his spine, and sweat migrates from his armpits to his waist down to his buttocks. ‘I–’

‘It was the right choice. The best option possible, Javi. Or you wouldn’t have met me.’

‘Why?’

‘Because…’, even without looking at Yuzuru, he knows he is being studied, head to toes, scrutinized from the shortest of his eyelashes to the largest alveolar root of his lungs, the violent viewfinder of his obsidians burning him, ‘… you were the only one in that crowd with a glimmer of death in your eyes. It was so beautiful, Javier…’, the young man fakes a loud, blissful moan, one that the Spaniard drinks of immediately, flinching in his leather seat, ‘… I almost came in my pants.’

He almost screws to the next lane, the speeding car behind them buzzing as they nearly collide, probably sending them to greet Hades before their time, when Yuzuru’s fingers trace the open wound on his temple, though not bleeding, a faint scent of musk and gunpowder.

‘I know you can’t feel pain.’ He presses down harder. ‘Physical pain. I’m the same. I was born to make others experience what I can’t and that is pain. We are the same, Javi. We have a mission, you and me. You are so different from all the others.’

‘How many?’ The hazelnut-haired man coerces the lump in his throat down, back to his stomach. ‘How many were there?’

‘The ones that I silenced?’ Yuzuru leans closer, whispering directly to his ear. ‘Or the ones that fucked me?’

A kiss on the corner of the mouth is a promise and Javier would have claimed those poppy, crimson lips if they had just stayed a second longer.

‘There was another Javier. Tall, wilder curls than yours. His accent was funny too, with a lisp that made me want to cut his tongue. He was so gentle when he asked me if he could taste me. So annoyingly tame and badly taught. I like you better, _Javier Fernández_. You’re a beast, taking more than one can give.’

‘You are sick.’

‘I can’t wait for you to devour me, Javi.’

His cheeks flare in a feeble hue between strawberry and magenta, disguised under the orange gloss of the night lights, jealousy of knowing that someone out there with the same name as his had touched Yuzuru, freely explored his body, tied him with his belt, gagged him with his underwear, the waves of lechery condensing on his manhood, and he wants to stop the car that moment and hunt for that _Javier_ and strangle him.

The rationale of logic subdues the obsessive instincts when they almost reach their destination, a few neon green, blinking arrows placed just before the border to the suburbs of T., an uncalled police inspection, the blue and red flashing seen from the distance. Javier eases the burden on the gas medal but Yuzuru is already shifting the gear to a higher position.

‘Don’t stop now.’

‘They are asking us to pull over.’

‘Go past them. Pretend you didn’t see those clowns.’

‘They are officers!’

‘Do what I say.’ The jest in Yuzuru’s eyes is gone, the glacial seriousness inhabiting his dilated pupils again, calculating, a true chameleon of the human humours. ‘Do you think they will help you? Do you think that your dick will get yourself the safe ticket? Or do you think they will wash the blood in your hands as they take turns on your pretty ass? They will probably do that, enjoy themselves, while you count how many tiles your prison cell has. Is that what you want? To have your freedom taken away like some humble dog with your tail between your legs?

‘I–’

‘I will miss you, Javi. What we had and what we could have. But don’t worry, I’ll write you postcards and send you the best cigarettes from O. I’ll come for you too, when you’re an uncle and addicted to the blue pills.’

‘I won’t go in.’

‘Why?’ Yuzuru reaches for his gun, magazine empty, but he still tucks it on the waistband of his jeans. ‘Will you do it again?’

Javier hesitates, the sight of the traffic regulators, only one on their side actually, the others scattered on different sections on the opposite direction, becoming closer and closer, and he nods, the adrenaline of being caught any moment replying for him. He turns right at the junction before the inspection point, speed limits clearly breached and Yuzuru guides him through the maze of trees and farmland, deserted at night, except for the few grazing cows and vagabond cats mating in the rows of soy bushes. He stops the engine when the high-way lights are not reflected on the nightly curtain, the younger man’s hand on his lap, not dominant, just nipping lightly, reassuring, telling him he will protect him. The approaching traction on the dry soil, a door closing and steps on the rocks discarded here and there, are an ominous symphonic movement before the denouement.

‘Look at the me, Javi.’ Yuzuru holds him by the chin, the renewal of life flickering in his dark orbs. He digs his nails on the cut, the trail of blood trickling down his face. ‘I will not betray you.’ And he leaves the car, hands on the air, seemingly inoffensive, the façade of someone deeply shaken, visibly losing his stability, perfectly acted.

 

***_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_**

 

‘Don’t move!’ It’s not even a gun that is pointed at him but a flashlight that is almost as long as the miniature arm of the equally vertically-challenged officer, hair plastered all over the face. He doesn’t want to be there, his shift probably already finished a few hours ago but forced to complete a few extra rounds.

‘Please!’ What is not a challenge does not excite Yuzuru. ‘My friend and I were attacked by the man they were talking on the radio. Please, my friend has lost a lot of blood and we… he needs help!’ The despair almost matches the tears he summons, the broken tone and the tremor of his breathing.

‘I need your friend to leave car.’

‘He can barely walk. We need to get him to a hospital as soon as possible!’

‘He can go on mine if the injury is serious. But he needs to leave the car now.’ He taps the handle of the door with his torch.

The uptight, uncooperative type. The ones that Yuzuru hates the most. ‘Let me help him at least. Please. It’s too dark here to know where to stand.’

‘With both your hands at view.’

The officer consents, an indistinct message on his personal radio due to the poor signal coverage, and Yuzuru sees the opening he needs when he stands behind the uniformed agent on his trajectory to Javier’s side, as he hauls the tiny man by the neck, his head free diving into the cracked windshield, the force of the impact shattering the reinforced glass into crystal particles, rainbow prisms that land all over their seats, the mats on the leg compartment, on Javier. The Spaniard leaves the car, his heart almost ripping away from his ribcage, the other man bending unconsciously, half in, half out. Yuzuru clutches his knuckles, _fuck_ , a reddening bruise on the back of his hand, the impatient clues on his features morphing into disappointment when he checks the identification of the victim.

‘Not my type. What a boring anomaly. I don’t want to do it.’ He retrieves the gun at the holster tied at the waist, feeling the weight of it on his hand, not impressed, loading it, the slide too rusty and harsh, not smooth, and he offers it to Javier. ‘You do it.’

He can’t, the image of the muzzle on his sternum, between his brows, anywhere on him, paralyzes his gait and his synapses. He shakes his head, a drop of blood splurging to his lips, the metallic taste both salty and sour.

‘Here,’ Yuzuru wipes away the blood, some already coagulated and powdery, off his face, as he gathers both their hands onto the rubbery grip of the pistol, ‘just one, Javi, and you will be free.’

‘I don’t kno–’

‘Shhh.’ The young man positions himself behind the Spaniard, lifting their arms in the same eye level and aiming at the officer. ‘You want to do this, Javi. Just how you did her.’ He presses their shoulders together, chest to back, feet on feet. ‘I will not leave you. I will protect you, Javi. And I will…’, he thrusts his hips forward, the bulge in the front of his pants rubbing against the shivering silhouette of the hazelnut-haired criminal, ‘… I will reward you.’

The shot is swift, a challenge to the speed of lighting, just a finger curling at the trigger. The shot reverberates through the open area, a cluster of bats flying from the crown of the trees and owls too. The shot is loud, deafening strident, but Javier hears nothing of it, the chime of the copper and lead explosion completely silent, as Yuzuru kisses the patch of skin behind his ears, his tongue lapping on his earlobe, and he drops the gun. His hands are still shaking but they orbit to the young man’s jaws, pulling him for a kiss, crushingly hard that his own teeth cut the inner layer of his mouth, the same with the dark-haired devil, and he lunges them both to the ground, the patches of grass sharply tickling their exposed limbs.

‘You are the best, Javi.’ He says between the intervals to recover their breath. ‘Do you want my lips on you again?’

Javier shakes his head, his fingers already unbuttoning the jeans and almost ripping apart the zipper, the wet stain on the young man’s underwear and the pink tip peeking from the waistband making him lose the control he never had. ‘I want to be inside of you.’

He spreads the thighs further apart in an angle that probably hurts but Yuzuru makes no resistance, smirking with the same brash arrogance, his own arms apart, crucified, a martyr that was the master too. The young man hisses when two fingers, spit coating them, penetrate his tightness without warning, scissoring until he tilts his head back, back arched as the cocktail of thundering shocks through his nerves. The emptiness of the withdrawal is brief, too transient, as Javier positions himself at the entrance and buries in the warmth, even faster, the slap of his balls against the pale cheeks synchronized with his guttural sob.

He can’t move, the clutching of the soft but scorching walls on his member almost blinding him with the rush of pleasure, of the crawling itches on his navel and the closure of his throat, he can’t move when all he sees is Yuzuru’s parted mouth, panting, the triumphant smile almost glowing from his on his face. He is a pawn in a game he willingly took the first step, his king and queen the same _Requiem Swan_ , and so he bows, he springs forward, hands on the younger man’s neck as his fingers sunk deeper into the windpipe, thumbs enfolding the Adam’s apple.

Yuzuru is so not like her, not trashing or scratching his wrists with fake nails, he nods of his audacity and creativity, sweat of burnt vanilla in his palms, lips quiver into silent _more_. He shuts his eyes, the lack of air asphyxiating his conscious senses, but they heighten the survival ones, the animalistic impulses, the need to cling onto the thread of life, onto any material space, onto Javier’s erection pulsing with ardour.

He comes, the Spaniard too, the paradox of unbearable constriction and engorging flesh sending them both to the edge of the precipice. The aquamarine bruise on the neck veers into mauve glazes, and Javier bites on the finger marks, teeth tearing the skin like a vampire and delighting on the first drop of blood. Yuzuru moans, voice raspy and broken, a perfect note that ignites the last spurs of white seed filling him.

The night is long in its quietude and both men lie next to each other, only the moon and the different constellations witnesses of their dangerous liaison.

‘Say, Javi…’, Yuzuru traces a wing on the other man’s neck, the same place where his own wound is, ‘… how will you sign _that_ body?’


End file.
